Bathilda's Story
by Androidxs
Summary: My name is Bathilda Bagshot. I wish to tell you about the night that I found Lily and James Potter dead.


My name is Bathilda Bagshot. I wish to tell you about the night that I found Lily and James Potter dead.

It was the same year as celebrating my first century alive. At 100, I was thinking about starting to slow things down a bit – I still enjoyed the odd spot of travel, but things were starting to take their toll on me and writing more books seemed a tedious task compared to how it used to be. I had always considered Godric's Hollow to be a safe place to eek out my years. Of course, I suppose - in retrospect – that to think anywhere were safe in those times were an overstatement. You Know Who. He was at his peak, people feared him (even I still struggle with the nightmares and stories about what he did to families) and it seemed as though nothing could stop him. Strange really, that one year old boy managed to… but Dumbledore said that night that he had an idea why, wouldn't explain it though although, in my studies I have noted several cases of similar happenings (people surviving curses meant to maim, sacrificial wounding reviving life) but nothing quite as strong or as suprising as what Harry did that night. That Dumbledore – as mysterious as ever! Seeing him grow up was an enchanting thing, and now he's the most respected wizard I know. And quite rightly, too. But I must get back onto course. I'll tell you everything.

That night, I was waiting for a batch of Cauldron Cakes (my specialty) to finish cooking in the oven. It was getting late and dark quite early for Daylight Savings had been the week before. Outside, children were running around, gabbling at each other and trick or treating – one of the muggle customs the wizarding world seems to have adopted – and it seemed nice and peaceful. Most parents had stopped letting their children out since the rise of Voldemort, but the few watching seemed relaxed. As the night got on, it started to get very cold. The children seemed to disappear very quickly into their warm houses with their parents and the road outside was empty by the time the cakes were out of the oven. I remember that I had just bent over to pull out a bottle of Fire whiskey to celebrate a good batch when everything changed. I heard yelling from the house next door – the Potters'. They were supposed to be in hiding (not in their house) according to Dumbledore, but I heard him as clear as day. It was James – his yelling I can still recall now: "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him!" Naturally, he needed no explanation as to who "him" was. I dropped my bottle, my hands suddenly numb and fumbled for my wand. There wasn't much I could do against Voldemort, but if he came for me, I'd try my damnedest to get one up on him first!

I had goose pimples covering me from head to toe, trying to listen for more sounds. A very large explosion came from next and a loud thud came close to my house. It sounded far too heavy to be a person, I remember thinking, relieved. At this point, I thought there was only one way forward – tell Dumbledore. Somewhere next door, Harry had begun wailing and I could hear Lily's cries and yells, trying to plead with the most merciless man alive (if you could even call it that): "Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!... Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead -Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy… ". Some people have said hearing his voice is the worst thing you could ever hear. I have to disagree. Hearing Lily's screams – the tortured screams of a mother trying to save her child – is much worse. I was transfixed, tears running down my face. I wanted to help, but was rooted to the spot by my own fear. I heard him laugh. Cruel, harsh, dry. If a dementor had a voice, it would not compare to his. Lily's screams had stopped. Panicked, I ran outside, seeing the Potters' discarded front door lying on the grass front lawn – explaining the first thud. As I ran towards to house, all hell broke loose. I was flung backwards, at least 20 feet by the force of whatever came from the house. I had just enough time to apply a cushioning charm where I was about to land before reaching the spot, now close to the road. I lay with my hands covering my head for some time, listening to the sounds. Rubble was settling. Harry was crying. But nothing else. I stole a look towards the house. It wasn't a house any longer – the pile of rubble stood framed in the garden. Harry. Still crying. I couldn't bear to hear him any longer so pushed myself up and started running to the house. A large crack came from several steps ahead of me, I lifted my wand up, muttering "Lumos", and the beam of light shone over Albus' face. Illuminating it against the backdrop, he looked at me and nodded gravely with a fury and disappointment in his eyes of which I had never seen before. "Harry…" I muttered, pointing towards the cries coming from the ruins.

"Hagrid will get him." Dumbledore said, indicating to the giant gameskeeper of Hogwarts who was stumbling over the rubble towards the crying. He took several steps around the house, waving his wand and muttering incantations, a look of mild confusion masking his anger. "What happened?" He finally asked, his wand returned to his robes.

"Him." I muttered back, my throat seeming to not want me to talk. Dumbledore heard my squeak and led me by my hand inside to my house. He sat me at my kitchen table and made me a cup of tea as I told him what I have just told you. "Why weren't they hiding, Albus?" I finally managed to ask. He looked at me, directly in my eyes and sighed, suddenly looking much older than his own years but also saddened.

"They were, it appears that they put their trust of their secret into the wrong hands." He answered slowly.

"And where is You Know Who?" I stammered, still shocked at what had just happened.

"Gone." Said Dumbeldore, before adding, "For now." As an afterthought. I sipped at my tea, trying to digest the news. You Know Who was gone. Gone? Gone!

"And wha-" I started, before Hagrid's heavy footsteps entered the house.

"Dumbledore, Sir." He said looking solemnly, his eyes welling with tears. Letting out an almighty howl, he yelled, "James an' Lily are dead!" Dumbledore looked at the small bundle in Hagrid's arms, and then to me.

"I'm sorry. I have much to do. I will be back in several hours to answer your questions." He said plainly and calmly. And with that, he patted me on the back and left out the door with Hagrid, talking about going to Surrey for some reason, while trying to console him for the loss that they were both feeling.

He returned several hours later. Naturally, I hadn't been able to sleep so was still awake and having another cup of tea when he arrived with a sharp crack from apparating to my front door. After offering him a seat I began to ask my many questions which had been revolving in my head for the past few hours.

"What happened to Harry?" I asked, being particularly fond of the boy.

"His relatives are looking after him." Dumbledore said, nodding thoughtfully. "They're all he has left now."

"I would have looked after him, Dumbledore."

"As would many, Bathilda, but he belongs with the little family he has left." I nodded, agreeing with what he said and waiting to ask another question. Before I could, he began to answer anyway. "Voldemort appears to be gone for now. The spell seems to have rebounded, destroying the house as well as Voldemort."

"Rebounded? An unforgivable curse? Dumbledore, that doesn't happen." I gasped.

"Alas, but it has. Harry is unharmed apart from a small cut, which he will likely keep as a scar forever. For whatever reason, I cannot explain at the minute." I assumed as Dumbledore were unable to explain it, then I would not do well in understanding it as he had always been incredibly bright.

"Why weren't they hiding?" Dumbledore smiled sadly.

"They were." He answered in a pained manner, after some length. "Their friend, a young Sirius Black, was acting as secret keeper while they remained under the fidelius charm. It appears their trust was misplaced and I have misjudged what some wizards are capable of." Shaking his head sadly, he stood up, ready to leave.

"What do you mean, 'for now'?" I asked quickly, wanting my final question answered. He looked at me quizzically before giving me his answer.

"Surely, you of all people know how unexpected the future can be?" He said, his usual charm returning, "Looking back at the past can give us some way to judge the future. And judging Voldemort's past, I refuse to believe that this will be the end of it. But for now, we must celebrate. We are safe for some time." Smiling, looking much happier than earlier, he made a final cracking sound and disappeared from the kitchen.

So that's it – all that I can remember. I hope it was enough.


End file.
